Pope Francis has been labeled by his critics as a populist, a claim that must be firmly rejected—unless we are willing to define as populist anyone who cares about the problem of poverty. Such an assumption would be absurd and repugnant. Populism is a broad concept with various meanings: in the North American context, in 19th-century Russia, and in Latin America during the 20th century. Today, especially in the West, the term refers to heterogeneous political groups that foster resentment toward political and economic elites, as well as hostility toward immigrants, refugees, and foreigners in general: a “we” versus “them” dynamic—against those in power on one hand, and against “others” and the “different” on the other, perceived as a threat to the interests of the native and resident population.

Pope Francis has distanced himself from this form of populism with great force, openly denouncing it and even comparing it to Nazism. At the same time, through Evangelii gaudium, he has articulated a vision of politics as a “vocation of the highest dignity” and as “one of the highest forms of charity,” rejecting its “denigration” and the tendency to make it “the scapegoat” for “our shortcomings”—in other words, firmly rejecting populism.[1]

A look at Francis’s “Atlas” reveals even more: that we are facing an open, supranational, pluralistic perspective—one that is precisely the opposite of that of European populisms. There is in the Pope’s positions a fundamental difference from any kind of populist, including those who thrive in the contemporary world in its various forms, whether right-wing or left-wing—from the Brexit nationalists to Marine Le Pen or Mélenchon, from Narendra Modi to Donald Trump. His outlook also differs significantly from that of any democratic political leader.

In a democracy, elected officials are inevitably constrained in their spatial and temporal outlook by the pressure of their constituents’ interests. The Pope, too, has a constituency with which he must engage, but Francis’s “Atlas” is not anchored to any geographic or ethnic center of interest; it is the opposite of “America First,” and for many institutional and personal reasons, it cannot even be suspected of promoting “Europe First.” But it is not even “the Church First.”

His theology of mercy is not ethnocentric—which is to be expected—but it is also not ecclesiocentric, which is less obvious. For Francis, the Christian primacy of mercy and the proclamation of the Gospel are expressed in offering the Church to the world as a participant in building alliances rather than as a bearer of its own exclusive truth—as a promoter of pluralism more than as a guardian of a singular justification of faith or a salvation reserved only for those within the Church.

Francis’s Church simultaneously promotes its Catholic identity—which it acknowledges and articulates as a “duty”—a duty it also recognizes for other cultures and faiths.[2] At the same time, it promotes its own faith, ecumenism, and religious pluralism, along with collaboration with non-believers—things that do not always, and not easily, go hand in hand.

Here, I consider the geopolitical perspective that the Pope embodies from a specific angle—one that I personally regard as a priority. I don’t claim it to be exhaustive, but it certainly highlights a defining feature of this pontificate: that of religious and cultural pluralism. This trait is not entirely new in the Church’s history over the past fifty years. It had already emerged with explosive energy under John XXIII and the Second Vatican Council, and it experienced other significant and vital moments during the pontificate of John Paul II.

I’m thinking, among other things, of the summer seminars in Castel Gandolfo organized by Krzysztof Michalski, in which the Pope personally took part, engaging in a spirit of dialogue between cultures and between believers and non-believers.[3] I’m also thinking of various phases of that pontificate—from the so-called “spirit of Assisi” in 1986 (which was indeed followed by backlash and controversy), to the apologies and repentance for the errors committed by the Church in the “service of truth”: for the Inquisition, the Crusades, the schisms, religious persecutions, and anti-Jewish prejudice. This was a process that both prepared for and accompanied the Jubilee at the end of the century.[4]

However, that process came to a halt in the very year of the Jubilee with the release of the Dominus Iesus declaration—and in the years that followed.

Pope Francis has thus been able to resume a path that left important marks and should not be forgotten. Today, he presents himself on the international stage with a reflection on pluralism that is thoughtful, explicit, and well-developed. He engages with the issue of globalization, addressing its complexity in a way that constitutes a significant innovation. One might call it a “process innovation,” in homage to a concept dear to him; but as a layperson, I would also describe it, borrowing a business metaphor, as a “product innovation,” where the “product” is an “open agenda” — open to differences and to alliances (a concept rich with theological implications) among religions and cultures.

It is an agenda that develops a message in defense of the excluded and the poor on a global scale — but not in the style of populist localism, not driven by nostalgia for a “bring back” mentality, without that longing for a bygone era, which Zygmunt Bauman described as “retrotopia.” [5]

Francis criticizes the version of globalization promoted by neoliberal extremism, but the global dimension is congenial to him—rooted in his personal history, in his coming from the “end of the world,” and in what his election represented: a decentralization of the Church’s perspective and a multiplication of its points of view, following two non-Italian popes who were, nevertheless, still European. Another key reason for this congeniality is his Jesuit formation, through which he strongly reaffirms the Society of Jesus’s traditions of openness to pluralism and interreligious dialogue, and its deep concern for human rights and social justice.[6]

Under John Paul II, the papacy had already developed a global “atlas” encompassing the entire planet, thanks to Wojtyła’s own vision of the world. This was also achieved through the media—truly a revolution—extending the pope’s presence into McLuhan’s “global village” via satellite television, which made it possible to broadcast his travels live from Brazil to India to Nigeria.

Francis’s innovation is not in this global reach, but in the shift of the center of gravity and in the new emphasis he places on recognizing and respecting the diversity of contexts. (It’s hard not to mention here a hallmark of Jesuit history: the ability to inculturate the faith.) His approach also involves a clear distancing from a Church-centered perspective—one he has begun to reform deeply, in service of this renewed vision of Christianity.

An examination of the documents and texts that support these claims can begin with the encyclical Laudato si’, where the theme of alliance is presented in its full strength. Here, Francis offers the contribution of religion as part of a desirable human symphony, aimed at addressing a problem of enormous proportions before we fall into the abyss. As the encyclical states: “If we take into account the complexity of the ecological crisis and its multiple causes, we must realize that […] no form of wisdom can be left out, not even religious wisdom with its own language.”

No form of wisdom, then, should be excluded: the Church offers its own, as such, in its own language, as complementary to others. It does not assert a claim to truth, but extends an offer of help. Francis, here, seems to be reaching out to Jürgen Habermas’s postsecular philosophy. Indeed, he adds: “The Catholic Church is open to dialogue with philosophical thought, and this allows her to create various syntheses between faith and reason.” The reference is quite clear.

According to the German philosopher, between religious and non-religious culture, between believers and non-believers, not only is mutual learning possible, but it is also beneficial for non-believers to make the effort to translate the content of demands expressed by religious individuals—even when formulated in the language of their faith—so that the “semantic potentials” contained within can be rendered useful in the public sphere. Habermas hopes that “religious contributions to political debates will be taken seriously, and that in a cooperative search for truth, their potential content, expressible in secular terms and justifiable in the language of motivation, will be tested”—a language that, in public acts, must conform to the necessary neutrality of law and legal discourse.^[7]

In parallel, the encyclical affirms that, regarding principles dear to the faith, “the fact that they may appear in religious language does not diminish their value in public debate. Ethical principles that reason is capable of recognizing can always reappear in different forms and be expressed in different languages, including religious ones.”^[8]

The call for alliance in Laudato si’ highlights three recurring aspects of Francis’s thought:

1. That the Christian faith can and must cooperate with other religions and with the sciences;
2. That religion, as such—regardless of its specific form, Christian or not—is an inextinguishable aspect of the human condition;
3. That this collaboration among a variety of religions and cultures necessitates both the method and the practice of cultural pluralism.

The encyclical underscores this with a tone reminiscent of cultural and religious anthropology: a historical process of change, such as the one at stake when we speak of ways of life, cannot be imposed from the outside, but must be understood “within the world of symbols and customs proper to each human group,” and it requires “the constant involvement of local social actors starting from their own culture” (emphasis mine). Each group must understand and justify what must be done in light of “current needs,” drawing inspiration from “their respective sources.”

A particularly telling example is that of Indigenous peoples, for whom “land is not a commodity but a gift from God and from their ancestors who rest there, a sacred space with which they need to interact in order to sustain their identity and values.”^[9] These are spaces to be respected, and domains in which changes to ways of life—even when necessary or inevitable—must take place within the framework of diverse traditions and cultures.

Francis has demonstrated his commitment to pluralism in various ways since the very beginning of his pontificate, notably by characterizing the concept of “proselytism” in highly negative terms. These statements are logically (and theologically) connected to two key ideas: on the one hand, Christian ecumenism; on the other, the notion of an alliance with non-Christian religions. They also encompass an appreciation for cooperation with non-believers in the name of the common good.

These themes reappear in the interview given to Signum, the Swedish magazine, on Luther and the Reformation, on the eve of the trip to Stockholm: “Common prayer and works of mercy—that is, working together to help the sick, the poor, and convicts. Doing something together is a high and effective form of dialogue.” But there is a firm no to proselytism among Christians of different denominations, which he calls “a sinful attitude,” as it would reduce “the Church to an organization,” essentially turning it into a kind of shop pursuing its own interests.

“Talking, praying, working together: this is the path we must take. In the matter of unity, the one who never errs is the enemy, the devil. When Christians are persecuted and killed, it is because they are Christians—not because they are Lutherans, Calvinists, Anglicans, Catholics, or Orthodox. There is such a thing as an ecumenism of blood.”

Here, the spirit of collaboration involves Christians of all kinds, but in other instances, the alliance explicitly extends beyond the Christian sphere. This was the case with Laudato si’, in defense of creation. And it is again a broadened alliance that concerns the fight against corruption. In this context as well, the Pope calls for a united response to a problem—a destructive force that eats away at our lives, both outside and within the Church: “We, Christians and non-Christians, are like snowflakes, but if we come together, we can become an avalanche: a strong and constructive movement.”

This is an alliance that becomes a “new humanism, this renaissance, this re-creation against corruption that we can bring about with prophetic boldness. We must all work together—Christians, non-Christians, people of all faiths and of none—to combat this form of blasphemy.”[10]

In his speech in Cairo—where the dialogue with al-Azhar and Islam takes on a clearly central importance—Francis’s vision of a pluralist “atlas” evolves in increasingly explicit terms. While the central issue in the meetings held in Egypt was peace and the rejection of violence, Francis firmly steers the conversation toward one of his key themes: the alliance of religions. This is underpinned by affirmations that emphasize mutual respect and see “difference as a source of richness, never a cause for conflict.”

The kind of wisdom Francis urges us to pursue is one that “seeks the other,” overcoming “self-enclosed identities” and the temptation to “become rigid” or to “assert one’s own side,” and instead searching for “the other as part of oneself.” He thus affirms interreligious dialogue, approached without suspicion or fear, because “the future of all depends also on the encounter between religions and cultures.”

We must embrace “the duty of identity, the courage of otherness, and the sincerity of intentions,” transforming competition into collaboration, forging alliances for the common good. “In speaking of this,” he says, “I would like to use as a symbol the ‘Mount of the Covenant,’ a symbol of an imperative to which all religions are called: to respond to the ‘urgent need for the Absolute,’ while rejecting ‘any absolutization that justifies forms of violence.’”

Thus, Francis rejects any notion of “conciliatory syncretism” (having already affirmed the “duty of identity”), but calls for dialogue and collaboration in the clear understanding that the rigid absolutization of one’s own truth is, in itself, a source of violence.

The rejection of withdrawal into one’s own identity, the refusal of an absolutism that paves the way for violence, the condemnation of proselytism, the recognition of religious diversity as a source of richness, and the proposal of an alliance among religions for the protection of the creation and against violence—all of these are clear signs of a pluralistic inspiration. This inspiration inevitably carries theological significance, once the believer begins to ask what this diversity means within the framework of the divine plan.

Notes: 

[1] The discussion on the topic is documented in G.E. Rusconi, The Narrative Theology of Pope Francis, Laterza, 2017.

[2] The “duty of identity” appears in the speech delivered in Cairo to the participants of the International Peace Conference, Al-Azhar Conference Centre, Friday, April 28, 2017, https://www.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/speeches/2017/april/documents/papa-francesco_20170428_egitto-conferenza-pace.html.

[3] The Castel Gandolfo seminars were primarily discussed in the German and Polish press and documentation is available only in these two languages. See the German edition: Castelgandolfo-Gespräche (8 volumes), Klett-Cotta, Stuttgart 1985–1998; and the Polish edition: Znak and Centrum Myśli Jana Pawła, Warsaw/Kraków 2010.

[4] Memory and Reconciliation: The Church and the Faults of the Past, https://www.vatican.va/roman_curia/congregations/cfaith/cti_documents/rc_con_cfaith_doc_20000307_memory-reconc-itc_en.html.

[5] Z. Bauman, Retrotopia, Cambridge: Polity Press, 2017.

[6] On this topic, see The Jesuits and Globalization: Historical Legacies and Contemporary Challenges, edited by T. Banchoff and J. Casanova, Georgetown University Press, Washington, 2016.

[7] J. Habermas, Between Naturalism and Religion: Philosophical Essays, trans. C. Cronin, Cambridge: Polity Press, 2008.

[8] Laudato si’, paragraph 199.

[9] Ibid., paragraph 146.

[10] Preface to Peter Turkson and Vittorio Alberti, Corrosion: Combating Corruption in the Church and Society, Rizzoli, 2017.

This article is adapted, with only minor changes, from the volume The Atlas of Francis, edited by Antonio Spadaro, Marsilio 2019.

Cover photo: Pope Francis waves to pilgrims after attending the weekly general audience at St. Peter’s square in The Vatican on November 6, 2024. (Photo by Filippo Monteforte / AFP)

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